Two Old Friends
by Friscogirl
Summary: It's come.  But Heyes and Curry are determined to meet it on their own terms.


Heyes sat in the comfortable armchair next to the bed and watched his partner die.

Curry had taken sick a few weeks before after a frigid storm blew in down from Canada. His lungs had been weakened from an earlier bout of bronchitis. Fluid had settled in them, and he was having trouble taking in enough air to live.

The doctor gave him a few days. Maybe less.

Heyes sighed and looked fondly at his life-long partner. His brother, really. The other half of his soul.

It wasn't hard to see him as a four-year old with a mop of blonde curls bouncing over merry eyes. Or years later, those eyes turned ice blue as he faced off another gunman on a dusty street. And even later, as the blues faded a little, but were compensated by the laugh lines that spread out from his eyelids, proof that after all the hard years running- first as young children from the orphanage, then as young men from the law, and then as older men running for amnesty- it had all turned out pretty well.

Now Curry's hair was completely white, just as was Heyes'. Heyes ran his fingers through the long strands that still hung down over his ears, then reached out and took Curry's hand in his own.

The touch stirred his partner, who opened his eyes, darting around the room a moment before settling on Heyes. "Still here?" he whispered, and his lips tugged into a smile.

"Always here," Heyes replied. "You never leave your partner behind."

The amnesty had never come through. Finally they decided to just turn their backs on worrying about it; tired of the constant rides from town to town looking for work that only just barely kept them going; tired of always looking over their shoulder or up on the hillside checking for posses or bounty hunters on their heels. They found work in Western Colorado, where they weren't known too well. The work stretched out, and before too many years they'd started up a profitable shipping business. Both had found wives. Both had outlived their wives. Their children had scattered but kept close. Their grandchildren were starting lives of their own. Neither wanted to be a burden on their offspring, so finally they settled into a small house outside Denver, hired a housekeeper, and tried to look to the future as much as they looked back to the past.

They played cards; read (or at least Heyes read to the Kid…they both enjoyed the old custom) They drove out to a nearby horse farm to admire the new foals. Occasionally they took gentle rides into the foothills. Family visited; they had plenty of friends who dropped by. It was a quiet, well-appreciated life.

"How are you feeling, Thaddeus?" Heyes asked solicitously. "You need anything?"

Kid smiled. "Heyes," he said, and Heyes' eyebrows flew up. "Don't you think now…maybe now…we can call each other by our rightful names?"

Heyes grinned ruefully. After they'd settled down, they'd decided to avoid using their given names, even with each other. Although the wanted posters were yellowing, they couldn't risk a slip. The only people who knew who they really were, were all dead. They'd told their wives before asking for marriage; it was the honorable thing to do. Lom Trevors knew who they were, of course, but he'd passed on twenty years before. They still thought of him.

"Sure, Jed." The name felt strange as it rolled off his tongue. "Long as you don't call me Hannibal."

Another grin. Curry wheezed, sucking gratefully for air. "Can't believe you still hate that name! I find it kinda…honorable."

Another set of arched eyebrows. "You never told me that."

"Nope. Didn't want you to whack me… Han."

They shared smiles. Heyes was eighty-five; Kid eighty-three. They'd lived sixty years longer than they had any right to back when they were holding up railroads in Wyoming. Now the world was entering its second world war. Heyes had ridden in an airplane to celebrate his 80th birthday. He remembered how he'd once watched an eagle soaring up over the Rockies, and commented to the kid how miraculous it would feel to see the earth from the clouds. Curry had remarked that it would also be a fine way to keep any eye out for posses. Heyes chuckled. His partner was always the practical one, always alert, always keeping a watch over his back. Just as they'd promised when they were children.

Heyes unclasped Kid's hand and looked at his palm. Yup, there it still was. The tiny line caused by a dull knife on a hot summer afternoon by the creek. Becoming blood brothers. Promising always to be there for each other.

Curry's eyes softened, and he looked at his own palm. And another matching line. He's been so scared when Hannibal had pulled the knife through his flesh, but more than anything he'd wanted to be the brother of Hannibal Heyes. They'd pressed hands, palm to palm, blood to blood. Just weeks later the raiders overran their farms, and they were all the blood they had.

Their eyes met fondly; blue to brown.

Curry took a tentative breath, feeling the tug in his lungs. He'd always thought he'd die by a bullet; not like this. He didn't regret it actually. Only, it was kind of a miracle.

"Want some water?"

He shook his head. "Nah." Then his eyes brightened. "Know what I'd really like, Han?"

Heyes nodded. Of course he knew! He stood up and walked to the cupboard, pulled open the bottom drawer and lifted out a handgun. It was as sparkling and clean as the day Curry had unbuckled it for the final time.

He sat down on the bed next to his cousin, and they both looked at the weapon silently, memories pouring over them. Heyes watched as Curry's sensitive fingers rolled the bullet chamber and touched the trigger. Curry's son was now police chief of Denver; he'd gotten the job after a shootout years before outside the Mercantile Bank. Onlookers were amazed at the deadly accuracy of Officer Curry's gun. Father Curry and Uncle Heyes had exchanged proud looks when they heard about it. Curry junior had become a policeman out of admiration for his father's old friend Lom Trevors. The career choice gave all three men a good laugh when they found time to get together every five years or so. The son of Kid Curry, a police chief! And Officer Curry never knew that he'd inherited the skill from his dad.

"Bet my aim is a bit off now," Curry finally admitted.

"Bet I can't crack a Pierce and Hamilton '85," Heyes grinned. "It doesn't matter."

"Nope."

Heyes felt a stab of pain as he heard Curry struggle to take in a breath. "Say," he said, "want me to read to you for awhile?"

Curry closed his eyes. "Whatcha got?"

Heyes reached into the satchel he'd placed on the floor beside the bed. ""The True Story of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry,'" he said softly. "As told by Hannibal Heyes."

Curry grinned. "Is this fact or fiction?"

Heyes pretended to look offended. "Only the facts, Partner." He smiled. "Well, only as I like to remember'em."

They were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. "Come in," Heyes greeted, and smiled at the pleasant colored woman who peeked her head in.

"You gentlemen set for the night?" she asked softly.

Heyes smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Whitman," he said. "Your supper was delicious as always. We're just going to read for awhile."

Her smile widened. Always such polite older gentlemen! "Well then, Mr. Smith! I'll bid you a good evening."

Heyes interrupted her as she was closing the door. "You might send the doctor by in the morning. Just to check on things."

She nodded. "Yessir. I'll do just that. Good night now."

The door closed softly and the partners heard her soft footsteps as she walked down the stairs to the main floor.

Heyes turned back to Curry, whose eyes had closed. He felt a pang of sorrow, which he relentlessly pushed aside. "Want me to read, or want to rest awhile?" he asked, instead.

"I want you to tell me what's going on with you, Heyes," Curry said, his eyes still closed. "I know you've got somethin' planned in that head of yours."

"Me?" Heyes faked astonishment.

Curry's eyes fluttered open. "Yes, you! You think I can know you for 85 years and not read you like one of those books of yours?"

Heyes tried to hold his gaze, but his was the first to drop. "It's nothin," he tried to say, but Curry interrupted him.

"It's a big SOMETHIN'" he tried to shout, but his breath gave out. "Damn," he said when he could speak again. "Ain't got time for this, Han."

A long moment passed between them.

"I'm sorry I gotta go first," Curry said softly. "Sorry I gotta leave you behind."

Heyes hung his head, and clasped the Kid's hand again in his own. "Won't be for long," he finally said.

Curry's eyes flew open. "What's that mean?"

Another long silence. "Kid, I'm eighty-five years old. You've been my partner all my life. ALL my life. Can't remember a day I didn't draw breath without you beside me, proddin' me along."

Curry smiled faintly. "Went both ways," he said.

"Yeah. Both ways."

"And?"

They listened as the clock ticked softly on the bed stand. Finally Heyes spoke. "It won't mean nothin' to me once you're gone," he finally admitted. "I can't imagine a day I won't look over and see your face beside me."

"Gonna happen, Han," Curry said ruefully. "Can't stop it."

Heyes shrugged. "No," he finally admitted.

The clock ticked, and realization dawned in Curry's eyes. "What are you plannin', Heyes?"

Heyes clutched his partner's hand tighter in his own. "You never leave your partner behind."

Curry felt his eyes begin to mist over. "You got more time on your clock, Han," he said. "I don't like what I'm thinkin.'"

Heyes said nothing.

"You've got a plan," Curry said flatly, and sighed.

Heyes nodded. "When Beth died, I thought I couldn't go on. I went to a …friend. He found a solution."

"Which was?" Curry knew the answer, but needed Heyes to say it.

"I wanted to die," Heyes finally admitted. "The solution promised a way to do that."

"Aw, Heyes," Curry said softly. He coughed, and his chest hurt something awful.

Heyes sighed. "Well, by the time my…friend…got me my…solution…you'd already convinced me there was things worth livin' for."

"And?"

"I put it away. For some other time." Heyes paused uncharacteriscally. "Until now."

Curry tried to glare, but he was suddenly feeling too tired. Sleep was beckoning. Welcome sleep. "And…?" he whispered.

"Once you're…" Heyes gulped, "gone….I'll follow you along."

"No!"

Heyes stroked his hand. "This late in our lives, would you want to go on without me constantly annoying you?"

Curry chuckled, and gasped for air. "You got a point there, Heyes!" It was true. God, it was true.

For several minutes the partners were quiet.

"I got another plan," Curry finally whispered.

Heyes' eyes narrowed. "You ain't talkin' me out of this, Jed," he warned.

Curry shook his head slightly. "Nope. But if you're so set on doin' this…let's do it together. Like we always done."

Heyes straightened and look deep into his partner's eyes: brown into blue, without wavering. Finally, he nodded.

"When?"

Curry forced a smile. "I'm hurtin', Han," he finally admitted. "Why not now?"

The clock continued ticking. Heyes listened to his partner's labored breathing, and felt his own heart constricting in his chest. Finally, he nodded. He stood up carefully from the bed and crossed over to the bed stand, where an empty glass stood waiting for him. He slowly pulled a flask from his vest pocket, and poured out a portion. He swirled it thoughtfully in his hand, watching as the light from the bed lamp made prisms of blue and gold.

He sat back on the bed and handed the glass to his truest friend. Curry didn't look at the liquid, staring instead into the eyes of his brother.

Heyes clicked the flask next to the glass, and they both drank deeply. "To us," Heyes whispered, and leaned against the bed rest. Curry nodded, and closed his eyes. _You don't leave a partner behind. _There was no more needed to be said.

The next morning Doctor Bainsford knocked politely on the bedroom door. Mrs. Whitman hovered behind him.

"They didn't answer earlier, Doctor," she said, twisting her apron in her worn hands. "And Mr. Smith didn't come down for breakfast."

Bainsford nodded, and tapped harder. "Mr. Smith? Mr. Jones?"

Nothing but silence greeted him. Bainsford pushed hesitantly against the door, loathe to intrude on his patient's privacy. But there was no intrusion to be feared. He saw the two men seemingly asleep, Jones under his bed covers; Smith resting next to him against the headboard. They were holding each other's hands, and their faces looked at peace. He could even say they were smiling at some secret known only to the two of them.

Mrs. Whitman drew in a soft breath. "Dear God." Tears sprung up in her eyes.

Bainsford stepped over to the bed and ascertained what he already knew: there was no life to be found here. He sighed, and glanced over to the bed stand, where he saw a thick hand-written manuscript. He picked it up curiously, and read the title page:

"The True Story of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry: as told by Hannibal Heyes, aka Joshua Smith."

His eyes widened, and he stared at the two men he thought he'd known as friends and patients.

"Well, well!" he chuckled. "Well, well."


End file.
